“Sure, sure you have! But you were fine—your imitation wasn’t a bit too
close. You can think about your own individuality this afternoon when
you’re watching him.”
Late that day in the projection room Baird and the Montague girl
watched the “rush” of that morning’s episode.
“The squirrel’s done it,” whispered the girl after the opening scene. It seemed to her that Merton Gill on the screen might overhear her comment.
Even Baird was low-toned. “Looks so,” he agreed.
“If that ain’t Parmalee then I’ll eat all the hard-boiled eggs on the lot.”
Baird rubbed his hands. “It’s Parmalee plus,” he corrected.
“Oh, Mother, Mother!” murmured the girl while the screen revealed the actor studying his photographs.
“He handled all right in that spot,” observed Baird.
“He’ll handle right—don’t worry. Ain’t I told you he’s a natural born trouper?”
The mail was abandoned in humorous despair. The cigarette lighted in a flawless Parmalee manner, the smoke idly brushed aside. “Poor, silly little girls,” the actor was seen to say. The girl gripped Baird’s arm until he winced. “There, old Pippin! There’s your million, picked right up on the lot!”
“Maybe,” assented the cooler Baird, as they left the projection room.